


Punctuation Marks

by butterfly_gARDEN



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:28:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29298171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterfly_gARDEN/pseuds/butterfly_gARDEN
Summary: Some observations over the years by RN Gladys Portman concerning our favorite couple.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72
Collections: LUCIFER_FICS_





	Punctuation Marks

**Author's Note:**

> I worked in EMS for 15 years. I am well aware of the dangers that lurk in bathrooms. However, such incidents CAN BE humorous. This story is one such example.

Gladys “Glad” Portman, RN, had worked in the Cedars-Sinai Hospital Emergency Department for years. Lovingly dubbed “Glad the Impaler” by her colleagues because off her prowess at starting IVs on even the most difficult of patients (seriously, that woman could start an IV on a mosquito!), she was not only impressively competent at her job, she was well-loved. She was one of those healthcare workers who could give care and compassion to every patient without judgement. If they were in her care, they were simply people who required treatment, regardless of their background or circumstance. Gangsters, junkies, stroke patients, it didn’t matter.

And really, who was she to judge ANYONE? Every parent who came in saying, “I only turned my back for a minute…”, well, she could relate. She still can’t believe her youngest son, Kyle, had even lived to adulthood. Kyle, who took advantage of his mother’s brief stint in the bathroom to attempt skateboarding off the garage roof, among other antics. Yeah, she got it. Kyle was in medical school, now, so obviously he hadn’t knocked EVERY brain cell out of his head...

Her hours, second shift, offered her the opportunity to meet humanity through a wide spectrum of experiences-the joy-filled times when a young couple learned that the reason the patient passed out was because she was pregnant, the shocking times when a seemingly healthy patient who “just didn’t feel well” got sent home under Hospice care, and the tragic times when a patient had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. All those moments meshed together with the flu cases, the assault victims, the clumsy people, the people with cardiac and/or respiratory issues to create an endless paragraph in the ongoing story titled Life in the E.D.

Occasionally, the paragraph had punctuation marks-patients or call natures that stood out amidst all the rest. One such punctuation mark had begun appearing five?...years ago, when from time to time, a very tall, handsome British man, always impeccably dressed, would burst into the E.R. carrying the unconscious form of a woman with golden brown hair. Clearly not one for propriety, the gentleman ignored such conventions as registration desks or triage stations, choosing instead to barge into the department calling out, “Officer down.”

Glad was on duty the first night it happened, and was on the trauma room docket for the night. The officer, a detective by the name of Chloe Decker had sustained a through and through bullet wound to the left shoulder as she attempted to apprehend a suspect wanted for the murder of a popular singer. The gentleman in question had accompanied her as she made the arrest. Oddly enough, by all appearances he, too, had been shot at, but the only damages to HIS body were to the clothes on his back. He had very calmly informed the staff what had happened, then ensured that the detective would have a private room. A very short time later, the gentleman had become one of the leading benefactors for the hospital.

These punctuation marks happened periodically over the last years with a few variations. Most notably, the time when the gentleman-Mr. Morningstar, his name turned out to be-burst into the E.R. empty-handed, looking positively wild-eyed. Recognizing Glad, he had run up to her, explaining, ”My partner, Detective Decker, is she here? She called me from the back of an ambulance. She was in a car acci-Detective?” he called out as the paramedics wheeled her in, “Chloe!” And he rushed to her side. That was the rarity, however. Usually Detective Decker was unconscious when Mr. Morningstar carried her in. Loss of consciousness was the result of a variety of reasons: gunshot wounds, concussions, stabbings-even a bizarre poisoning, once-but the scenario played out the same way. “Officer down,” and the staff went running.

For a while, there, Glad thought perhaps that the two had gone their separate ways. There was that one time when Detective Decker had been escorted in by an unknown officer, having been shot point blank in the chest. Thankfully, she had been wearing a bulletproof vest at the time, so her only injury was a nasty bruise; she was otherwise okay. Glad had been somewhat concerned for her emotional state at the time, because she caught the detective occasionally staring blankly into space, muttering, “It’s all true,” and shaking her head. But hey, she’d just been ambushed and shot in the chest, after all. Who WOULDN’T be shaken up, right?!

Then a few months later Mr. Morningstar himself was brought in by ambulance in the company of a very attractive brunette. Apparently, he had been a victim of a shooting that had happened inside his own nightclub. Glad noted the absence of Detective Decker, but was soon distracted enough by the fact that although the shooting had happened only hours before, the bullet wound was remarkably well healed. A bullet wound to that section of his body should have resulted in catastrophic internal injuries, but CATscans had revealed that there was no damage at all. Mr. Morningstar had been incredibly lucky, and was able to go home that night-which shouldn’t have happened at all. It was probably one of the most remarkable things she had ever seen-and she thought she’d seen everything.

She’d felt a little bad about the demise of “her” couple, ‘cause they were kinda cute together, you know? The way Mr. Morningstar looked at Detective Decker...But hey, nothing stays the same, and that kept her employed, after all. Circumstances change, people change, shit happens. That particular paragraph of Life in the E.D. had apparently ended. Quietly, she pulled the sheet up over her most recent patient’s head and turned off the lights, the ineffective life-saving equipment having been shut off minutes before, and Glad went out to speak to the family. Another paragraph would begin. More punctuation marks would appear. The cycle would continue.

“Officer down!”

Aaaaaand, there they were, almost a year after Mr. Morningstar’s shooting. Glad noted that Mr. Morningstar was dressed in a Tshirt and black silk lounge pants, not his normal three-piece suit. But, clutched to his chest was the unconscious body of Detective Decker, not the other brunette, her hair wet, clad in an incredibly soft, fluffy pink bathrobe. Glad made her way over to them.

“She hit her head. She-” Mr. Morningstar was absolutely distraught.

Glad gently escorted them to Trauma Room 2 as the overhead speaker summoned the rest of the trauma staff. Quickly, she changed Detective Decker into a hospital johnny, then started one of her famous IVs on her.

“She hit her head on the shower wall,” he repeated when the doctor asked.

“What was the shower wall made of, Sir? Tile? Vinyl?” the doctor continued.

“Marble,” Mr. Morningstar’s voice cracked. Unshed tears filled his eyes.

The doctor winced at the words. Not a forgiving surface, marble. Quietly, he ordered a CATscan, and Detective Decker was whisked away to the Imaging Department. Upon her return, she was wheeled into a regular room in the department, Mr. Morningstar following, and Glad opened up the computer in the room to begin yet another chart on Detective Chloe Jane Decker.

“Mr. Morningstar, please explain everything that happened?”

“She...I...WE were in the sh-shower…and...” he began. The poor man was pacing, clutching his hair, with a look of pure anguish on his face.

A loss for words. Usually, Mr. Morningstar and ‘at a loss for words’ would never appear in the same sentence. Glad looked over at him. Mr. Morningstar had reported to her several times over the years. She had gotten reports from him that were filled with worry, filled with anger (which was VERY SCARY. Glad certainly never wanted to be on his bad side), and filled with sorrow, but NEVER had she received a report from him where he was too distraught to speak!

“We...we were in the throes of passion…” Glad glanced over at the bed. Detective Decker was lying still with her eyes closed, but Glad could see that the woman was smiling, now. She was not as ‘unconscious’ as she had been earlier. Glad kept her face neutral, kindly encouraging Mr. Morningstar to continue.

“We...we dropped the body wash at some point, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was there. I just didn’t...,” he sighed and shook his head, “I had lifted her up against the wall at the time, but I stepped on the bottle and slipped and...and...she hit her head as we fell.”

Glad was doing really well. This was a woman who had heard countless explanations about how foreign objects had ended up lodged in people’s rectums, after all. Then, there was the time when a certain celebrity had gotten drunk and had fallen out of a deer stand, shooting himself in the leg-in Griffith Park, of all places. And face it, ‘hold my beer and watch this’ was a precursor to actions that often didn’t end well. She did an excellent job keeping her face in check, until Detective Decker snorted and began to giggle. Looking over at her patient, she saw that Detective Decker had her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughs. Her face was red, her blue-green eyes crinkled up in laughter, and her body positively shaking. And THAT’S when Glad lost her professional demeanor and cracked a huge smile.

“Chloe! Are you okay, Darling?” Lucifer turned to her, leaning down to give her a quick hug.

“Mmmm Hmmm,” she giggled.

“And you find this situation humorous?” Mr. Morningstar asked, thoroughly bewildered.

“I’m sorry, Lucifer, it’s just-” she giggled, “this whole situation is hilarious…” aaaaaand she broke down into laughter again.

Mr. Morningstar turned to Glad, and found her smiling and shaking her head. “Mr. Morningstar, do YOU need to be checked for injuries, too?”

“Oh no, thank you, Glad,” he answered. “I’m rather invulnerable these days-even around the detective.”

Oooookayyyyy, whatever that meant. Mr. Morningstar was not a normal person and Glad knew that from past experience. Nodding, she said, “Okay. If, however, later on you find that you DO require medical attention, please let us know. In the meantime, the doctor should be in, shortly to discuss Detective Decker’s case with you.” She excused herself and went to check on her other patients.

******

Glad smiled as she watched the two of them leave the E.D., hand in hand, later that night. He, in his bedroom slippers, she in her pink fuzzy robe and her newly-acquired hospital socks, padding along next to him. Usually, Detective Decker ended up admitted for her injuries, tonight she was lucky. Just a mild concussion.

 _Just too cute_ , she thought to herself. Going over the detective’s discharge instructions had been amusing, to say the least. Once Mr. Morningstar had realized that Detective Decker wasn’t badly injured and had found the incident nothing short of hilarious, all his guilt and self-recrimination had vanished, and he was as bemused by the whole incident as SHE was.

It was standard instructions. One week’s rest, with accompanying note for the detective to take to H.R, stating as much. Tylenol for any required pain management. Showers were to be supervised in case the detective got dizzy. THAT had earned a _‘Oooo, Detective_ ,’ from Mr. Morningstar, which in turn had earned HIM a smack across his chest from a smirking detective. _Showers for hygiene purposes only_ elicited a snort and a giggle from Detective Decker. And lastly, no strenuous physical activity for the next week which had earned Glad ANOTHER giggle from her patient.

Punctuation marks were an important part of English grammar. Sentences and paragraphs all relied on punctuation marks for clarity, for communicating ideas accurately. Glad could not even tell you how many emails she had received from supposedly college-educated people who apparently considered punctuation to be anathema. But punctuation marks in the E.D. indirectly provided a similar function. Shifts and rotations all blended into one another until the occasional punctuation mark showed up to divide the day. Most punctuation marks didn’t bear repeating-the horrific car accidents, the gang shootings, etc.-but they were, in fact, part of the never-ending Life in the E.D. story. There was a reason Glad always took a personal day on July 4th, after all. But then, there were the special punctuation marks, the ones that began worrisome, but ended up fine-like in Detective Decker’s case. And who knew that punctuation could be SO DAMN FUNNY?


End file.
